Falling
by Konyakusha Ushi
Summary: 'He rolls her over onto her back, calls her name. His chest feels as if it will concave from the retching of his heart. He looks upon her face - so sticky and pale - not the face of the Lan Fan he knows. Her eyes are closed, shut tightly, unknown to the world – to Xing – to her Master, Ling Yao. '


**((Disclaimer: I do not own '**_**Fullmetal Alchemist'**_** or '**_**Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood**_**.' '**_**Fullmetal Alchemist'**_** and '**_**Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood**_**' rightfully belong to '**_**Hiromu' Hiromi Arakawa**_**.))  
**_(__Author's notes__: It's been a while since I write some Lan Fan and Ling Yao pieces. I missed writing for them, but I guess the reason I didn't write so long is probably because I ran fresh out of ideas. __'Deadman Wonderland'__ (rights __to Jinsei Kataoka__ and __Kazuma Kondou__) inspired me for this. I don't know how, because this fan fiction has nothing in relation to that series, but somehow, it has inspired me to write. Lastly, please review if you have the time. It would be very helpful.)_

He wasn't expecting her to fall. Not from a simple stumble like that. He watched on, in disbelief, as her hair danced wildly with such vigorous movement – done up in its usual messy bun style - as her eyes blanked out and glazed over – provoked thoughts and fears unknown to him.

She would hit the floor, face down. He knew it, yet he couldn't budge. She wasn't the clumsy type. Only words of '_caution_' and '_sleek'_ seemed to fit her undying, perfect persona. So why was she falling? Had she been pushed? Surely not. Weren't they the only two who had been standing in the hallways of the Xingese Palace just moments ago, after dark?

Long beyond all sense of thought, Ling relied upon the sheer force of the adrenaline that rushed through him – through his veins of roaring red. His feet and legs shot forward, towards that little square tile decorated with royal patterns that she had once been standing nimbly upon. She suddenly seemed to be so far away from him – _unreachable._ Had he really been standing with such a distance between them? He couldn't remember.

His arms shoot out, muscles beneath the surface of his skin and sinew twitching - responding. Fingers follow, spindled and scrabbling with hollow bones and veins. Ling feels himself stumble, knees buckling with the sudden and desperate movement. He finds himself falling, towards her. His eyes narrow - breathe hitching.

She hits the cold marble floor with a thud. Her lips plie open, but no such finds its way from the depths of her throat. He topples beside her, completely losing his balance, eyes squeezed shut as a ready brace for the impact. When he makes contact, his skin groans and paints itself with long purple marks, revealing themselves from beneath the surface of his skin. He shudders, fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge to the cool draught that dares pass through such royal hallways.

Ling recovers first. He rises to his knees, eyes flinching open. He grabs at her small left shoulder, pointing upwards towards his torso – shakes it gently and gives it a squeeze. He panics; breath turning cold, the only reply he receives is that of silence and the thump of his own heart.

He rolls her over onto her back, calls her name. His chest feels as if it will concave from the retching of his heart. He looks upon her face, so sticky and pale. Her eyes are closed, shut tightly, unknown to the world – to Xing – to her Master, _Ling Yao_.

He feels for a pulse, touches her wrist and neck. He sighs a silent gasp upon feeling a small, yet familiar, patter of life beneath the surface of her paper-thin skin. He feels his eyes being drawn back to her face, her expressionless expression. Curiously, he feels her brow with the back of his hand, observingly. He frowns in recognition at the familiar signs of a fever. He sighs and wonders how long she had been unwell – how long she had been planning to keep it from him.

Unsure of what else to do, the Young Lord hoists his retainer up onto his back and holds onto her wrists to keep her small body steady. He will take her to her quarters – and make sure that she stays there until she is well again for that matter. He slowly makes his way down the winding hallways, eyes alert and alive.

When he reached her quarters, he opens the door and sets her down upon her bed. He tucks her in, like a small child, and makes for sure that she had a pillow under-head. She snoozes soundly, quietly – somehow it makes him feel uneasy. To take his mind off of such worries, he focuses on treating her fever and the bruise upon her brow. He wishes she would trust him more.

He sits by her bedside and watches her with fond eyes. He grips at the sheets on the side of her bed and tangles his fingers in it. He will watch over her all night – for she is the sun and he is the moon. He reaches out soft, long fingers and traces the veins that lie beneath her wrist. He grips it soothingly and gives it a fond squeeze.

He will watch over her all night – for she is the sun and he is the moon.

_(This one was very short and kind of strange. Please review if you have a suggestion or comment concerning this piece. It would be very helpful. I've been feeling lately that my Lan Fan and Ling Yao writing hasn't been as good as it can be at the moment. Thank you for reading and supporting this piece.)_


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